


Milk

by violethuntertheirregular



Category: Avengers, Bucky Barnes - Fandom, Clint Barton - Fandom, Hawkeye - Fandom, MCU, Marvel, Winter Soldier - Fandom
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-27
Updated: 2014-12-27
Packaged: 2018-03-03 18:51:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2864264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/violethuntertheirregular/pseuds/violethuntertheirregular
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is absolute fluffy crack. Nothing like my other stuff. You can ignore it, but I think it's pretty funny. As per a request, here is the story of the ambassador from Lichtenstein and the three gallons of milk. Also known as Clint and Bucky get really drunk.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Milk

“Truth or dare.” It was a harmless enough question—or so Clint thought as he took another shot of vodka. Bucky had brought back some of the good stuff from Russia, the kind that would probably melt your insides if you drank enough of it, and the two of them had already finished most of two bottles. The rest of the Avengers were out, doing something important probably, and these two had been left behind to watch over the tower, though after a few drinks Clint insisted it on calling it the Avenger Nest. Naturally this had given them the authority to put on comfortable yet ironic clothes and get trashed. 

“Truth.” Bucky fought the urge to giggle. She was a trained ass—heh, ass—assassin and she had to be calm and collected at all times. Even times spent getting absolutely pissed drunk with another ass—assassin. 

“Ummmmmm. Have you ever kissed Natasha?” Clint slurred happily.

“Does it count if we were maintaining our cover?” Bucky bit her lip anxiously. 

“It depends on the circumstances.” Clint replied philosophically, or at least he thought he sounded that way.

“We were in a nightclub in Sweden following some asshat who bombed the embassy in Azerbaijan. He asked us over for a drink and he thought we were call girls. I got fifty bucks and a cross off the capture list out of that kiss.” Bucky laughed as she remembered the look on the bomber’s face when his ‘call girls’ had dragged him out of the nightclub at gunpoint. 

“That doesn’t count.” Clint decided, and Bucky couldn’t help but notice how relieved he looked. 

“Ok. My turn.” Bucky took another shot, making a small rasping sound as the alcohol burned down her throat. “Truth or dare.”

“Truth.” Clint decided after a shot and a moment’s contemplation.

“No those are boring! Do dare.” Bucky felt like sitting upside down on her chair, so she turned around and let her brunette waves just brush against the ground as she played with the bumps on the wall with her toes.

“Ok. Dare.” Clint laughed.

“I dare you, when everyone else gets back, to give everyone bird names and call them that until the end of the next day.” Bucky gave Clint a shit-eating grin. Everyone already had a running joke that Clint was secretly a bird aficionado, and although he denied it, his ‘Avengers Nest’ wasn’t doing much to help him.

“How do you know I’ll go through with it?” Clint bargained, most likely in an attempt to avoid the later ridicule.

“If you don’t, I fill your bedroom with birds.” Bucky drank a shot upside down, not spilling a single drop, which was quite the feat. She obviously had practice, or just mad coordination skills. Probably both.

“Jesus. That’s a deal. I am not dealing with that again.” Clint interjected quickly before Bucky could add any more stipulations. He poured the last of the bottle into their two glasses and they drank. “Ok. Dare or Dare.” 

“Um, I’m going to have to choose dare.” Bucky snorted, realizing only now that her Captain America crop top—it was a gag gift from Tony—threatened to expose her entire chest, so she flipped back around, ignoring the dizziness. Clint had to think for a while before he could determine an adequate dare.

“I dare you to go and buy three gallons of milk.” Clint stated proudly.

“Wait, now?” Bucky was doing all she could not to slur her words. “It’s ten o’clock, will the store be open?”

“Yes. Right now. Let’s go. Unless you’re scared.” Clint taunted in a singsong voice. Bucky was up in an instant, rummaging around in a drawer for some money. 

“Should a dollar be enough?” Bucky called from the kitchen.

“We’re not in the 40s anymore babe, bring twelve bucks.” Clint stood up slowly, tugging on his shirt that read: “I love arrows” on it (another gift from Tony). 

“That’s expensive!” Bucky laughed, stuffing the money into her jeans pocket. “Ok. Let’s go. You coming?” She did her best not to stumble to the elevator, though she did almost trip over a step, Clint close behind. In three minutes the two of them were waltzing down the avenue side by side eliciting either stares or high-fives, depending on the demographic. They almost made it to the corner store. They were so damn close. Bucky could see the kiosk outside that sold gum and cigarettes, and could almost read the headlines on the newspapers. But fortune was a cruel mistress, and she had a personal vendetta against Clint Barton. To this day, neither Bucky nor Clint will explain how they managed to piss off a gay biker gang—surprisingly enough such institutions exist—but according to both of them, the street brawl was legendary. Both of them eventually escaped, but not before their eyebrows had been meticulously shaped and the only thing sharper than the wings of their eyeliner were the gang’s switchblades. The fight had been only slightly sobering, but not enough for them to decide to turn back to the Avenger Nest—Bucky was calling it that now too. No. They continued further into the night, in search of a different corner store that would sell milk that late at night. For some reason this area of New York seemed to be a desert with regards to grocery stores. Bucky and Clint were just leaving a Middle Eastern spice store with heavy hearts when a blacked-out Escalade pulled up next to them. A window rolled down and a middle-aged man in a suit poked his head out.

“Are you the Winter Soldier and Hawkeye?” The man asked bluntly, his voice carrying some sort of an accent that was impossible to place. He was European—probably.

“Who’s asking?” Clint snapped back nonchalantly. Bucky giggled as she thought of something—Clint was a sass-assin. 

“The under-ambassador of Lichtenstein.” The man replied haughtily.

“Nope. You got the wrong ones. I’m actually the Summer Soldier; this is Eagleye. You’re looking for our identical twins.” Bucky and Clint shared a very drunk and very sarcastic high-five. The under-ambassador of Lichtenstein was not amused.

“Please, will you help me? Some villains claiming to be SHIELD are holding my ambassador hostage in the Embassy Vault. You have to help him. I assure you, should you succeed, Lichtenstein will always be an ally to you.” The under-ambassador seemed very desperate. Bucky and Clint looked at each other, then came to an agreement. Villains claiming to be SHIELD usually equaled HYDRA, and that was something that warranted their attention. 

“Sure. We’ll help.” Clint spoke up, patting his pocket to make sure he still had his foldable slingshot. The back doors to the car opened and no sooner had the duo sat down than the car sped away. Much to Bucky’s dismay, they passed by several corner stores on the way to the embassy, all ones that looked like they would definitely have milk. Eventually they reached the embassy, an elegant building close to the UN, and were ushered quickly inside. They were escorted to the control room by the under-ambassador, where they were quickly introduced to the Chief of Staff any various other irritatingly titled individuals.

“So, do you understand the plan?” The under-ambassador asked finally. Bucky and Clint both nodded vigorously then strolled out of the control room without asking any questions. They were sneaking down an abandoned hall when Bucky stopped mid-step. 

“What is it?” Clint asked, confused by his friend’s behavior.

“What was the plan again?” Bucky knew she had been missing something. 

“Wing it?” Clint shrugged.

“Good plan!” Bucky whispered and they both giggled, walking into the vault anteroom. About ten ski-masked baddies were milling about, carrying a variety of weapons. When the inebriated duo marched in, they all turned towards them and raised their weapons.

“Wrong turn?” Clint suggested, and the baddies collectively rolled their eyes. Then, before the group could react, Bucky and Clint sprung into action. 

“Terribly sorry.” Bucky gave one of the men a winning smile as she punched him in the stomach with her metal fist, sending him flying across the room. “It seems that we really did lose our way.” She did a flip and kicked a villain who was sneaking up behind her in the nose. Clint pulled out his slingshot and proceeded to knock out his combatants one by one with a well-aimed stone to the temple or between the eyes. Within five minutes, every single one of the masked intruders was piled up unconscious in a corner. While Clint busied himself with tying them up—and making cheerful bird noises—Bucky opened the vault. Inside were a small man and what experts call a helluva lot of money. Upon seeing Bucky, the man screamed and cowered further within the stacks of Euros, most likely frightened by her metal arm, though it was a distinct possibility that her eyebrows were just too fierce. “I’m here to save you. Probably. Let’s go. Do you have milk?”

“What?” The ambassador looked past Bucky, and seeing none of the intruders, slowly followed her out. 

“I asked if you had any milk. You do drink milk in Lichtenstein, right?” Bucky rolled her eyes as if her question had made perfect sense out of context.

“Yes. In the kitchen—“ The ambassador began, but when he turned back to Bucky, she was gone, Clint in tow. 

…

When the other Avengers returned to the tower that morning, they were greeted by a bizarre and slightly adorable sight. Bucky and Clint had made a nest out of pillows and blankets in the middle of the living room, and were fast asleep curled up around three jugs of milk like misshapen eggs. Clint was snoring and Bucky was mumbling about eyeliner in Russian. Everyone took far too many pictures. Thor compared them to Gyrfalcon hatchlings, which nobody understood, though Clint did make a small sound of appreciation in his sleep. Eventually Natasha was deemed the one who should wake them up. 

“Clint, Bucky, wake up! We want to get some breakfast.” Natasha whispered hoarsely, kicking Clint lightly in his side.

“Go away Nat, I’m tired.” Clint moaned, but Bucky jumped to her feet, frightening everyone. She dashed off to her room and emerged with a new shirt—this one said My Boyfriend’s a Super Soldier—and a large net. 

“Bucky! Where are you going?” Steve called as Bucky sprinted to the elevator, pulling a brush through her hair.

“The zoo! I have to find a penguin!”


End file.
